Verne
by ProudDyspraxicWriter
Summary: Verne's story on the start of the journey to a better quality of life.
1. Suspicions

Verne

Emmett and Clara hadn't been married for long when they discovered the truth behind Clara's irritability and nausea. She was pregnant with their first child and so, nine months later a boy – soon to be named Jules Benjamin – was born to them. At first, it was strange adjusting to life with the new baby, especially for the Doc, but after the first few weeks, he refused to be out of Jules' sight. Clara was a good mother – a kind and loving one – and an excellent nurse. She was there when the little infant woke up in the mornings and she spoke softly to him, making him feel wanted and secure. As the small baby grew to small boy, his doting parents soon learnt he had inherited his father's obsession with science and inventing things. When he took his first steps, he toddled straight into the laboratory to assist Emmett in his newest science experiment. Though initially surprised by this, Doc was pleased as punch and planned to do all kinds of experiments once Jules was old enough to participate in them. But not long before he turned two years old, Clara started to get that nauseated feeling again.

**Wednesday, 25****th**** July, 1888**

" Really, Emmett, I think I may be expecting again," she told her husband one evening after she'd put Jules to bed.

Emmett hadn't been fully listening. He was busily sketching a schematic drawing for a new hi-tech washing machine. " Hmm? Expecting what?" he muttered.

" Emmett, will you stop inventing for a minute and listen to me?" she snapped, giving the scientist a harmless smack on the back.

He was jolted out of his thoughts, letting out a quiet noise of alarm as Clara nudged him. He turned to face her, all of his attention on her. " I'm sorry, you were talking about…um…something, uh…"

Clara rolled her eyes. _Men._ " I'm having a baby, Emmett," she said, her tone soft but serious.

An expression of utter confusion formed on Doc's face that quickly faded away as the news began to process. " Are you sure?" he questioned, a hint of uncertainty and nervousness in his voice, which was not that hard to miss.

She nodded and she began to list her symptoms, ticking them off on her fingers. " I'm dizzy and sick and I'm hot. I've been awfully emotional lately, I'm exhausted and my menstrual cycle-"

The Doc started and grimaced, desperately not wanting to hear any more about her menstrual cycle. " That doesn't mean you are exhibiting the signs and symptoms of a pregnancy in its initial trimester," he blurted out. " It could mean that you are stressed. How's ya blood pressure?" Clara looked down at her feet and heaved a deep exasperated sigh. Detecting her disappointment, the Doc lowered his voice to a soft, gentle whisper. " You do have your hands full these days – what with Jules and everything." He smiled warmly, squeezing his wife's shoulders. " I can relieve some of my employment hours and spend more time with the budding Edison."

Clara smiled. " I appreciate what you're trying to do, but there's nothing that can change my mind about this. I am pregnant, darling. I just know it! I've arranged a doctor's appointment for tomorrow afternoon so he can confirm whether I'm correct or not."

" You know what's funny?"

Realising that this was going to be one of her husband's 'in the future' stories, Clara gave a hearty chuckle. " What?" she asked.

" All this talk of doctors. In the future, well, you don't _have_ to go to a doctor to find out if you're pregnant."

" No?" She imagined life in the future, and how different the world will become.

" No. You can just take a test at home."

Clara laughed, hardly believing him. " That's not true!"

" Yes! All you need to do is…"


	2. Congratulations

Dr. Simpson was naturally a nice, warm, considerate man. Whether they were his patients or not, everyone adored him. Upon passing by their homes and workplaces, he was always greeted by someone. Some even gave him gifts, like Mrs. MacGregor the baker who baked him special treats, such as sugary cakes and buns. In his office, he was often very sympathetic when delivering bad news to patients. He'd frequently turn up on their doorstep, not as a doctor, but as a friend to support them. He was not an impatient person. He never rushed through his appointments. He took his time to explain the illness and treatment. He despised it when the patients were confused about something or misunderstood the medicine dosage. But as much as Clara liked him, she loathed his desk. His desk, though had numerous handy drawers, was in disarray. Papers – usually discarded ones – were scattered about in troughs of mess, clogging up space for him to take more notes. Of course Clara wanted to say something, but because he was courteous and polite, she worried about offending him.

" Well, from what you've told me and from the examination I performed," he nattered on, his fingers entwined. " You _are _expectant, Mrs. Brown." He gave a wide grin to her as she bounced her young boy on her knee and she smiled too.

" Oh, thank you, Dr. Simpson!" she cried, somewhat relieved. After what Emmett had said to her about the possibility of stress, she'd almost decided that she was wrong. But she was right. She was right, all right!

" Do you hear that, Jules?" said the doctor in a babyish voice. The toddler quirked his eyebrows, curious. " You're going to have a little brother or sister!"

The little boy cheered, raising his arms, and bounced up and down vigorously on his mother's lap, squealing with delight, making both of the adults roar with laughter.

" So any news on when I will be delivering?" Clara asked hopefully.

" Hm, not yet. But in the next few months, we'll find that out for you. OK?"

" Oh, yes, of course. Thank you so, so much, Dr. Simpson." Popping little Jules on the ground, she stood up to leave, her hand caging her son's.

" Uh, Clara," the doctor piped up. She turned, waiting for his answer. " Congratulations, and good luck," he continued, smiling.

The proud new mother glanced at her son and a small smile formed in the corner of her mouth. " Thank you, sir, but considering that I've already proved I can do it, I won't need luck this time."


	3. Comfort

**Monday, October 29****th****, 1888 (Jules' 2****nd**** birthday)**

" Good girl," the Doc murmured softly, messaging Clara's upper back as she vomited violently into a bucket. She coughed, bringing up the last of the dirty yellow chunks. " That's it; well done." Doc reached over for a box of tissues that lay on the side. An odd sensation of sympathy flowing through his veins, he plucked a few tissues from the box and gently wiped his wife's mouth. " That musta tasted horrible. Hmm?" He repositioned himself so he would be closer to Clara, who had just burst into tears. " It'll be all right," he told her reassuringly, caging himself around her.

Glumly, she shook her head. " Oh, it's no use! I'm tired of this."

" Of course you are." Emmett surprised himself by saying this. Consoling people was never his strong point. Well, people altogether was never his strong point. " Few more months and it'll be over!"

She heaved a deep, morose sigh. " I don't know…I don't know if I can do this anymore. I've already messed things up as it is."

Emmett gave a small smile. " Of course you haven't, darling! You can't help being sick."

" But still…It feels like it's my fault. Remember that party I was invited to? And you didn't want to come? All the men were smoking and we were…canoodling and joking together. That's why I'm so ill now, isn't it? Because I let the smoke get to the baby," she mumbled miserably.

" He or she will be fine, Clara. Besides, you didn't know you were pregnant then. How were you supposed to know?"

" Suppose you're right," she muttered. After a short pause, she said, " I've ruined Jules' birthday, haven't I? He was so looking forward to spending the day with my parents."

" Be'er at home wi' Mama and Dada!" cried a tiny voice. The adults turned and saw their little boy, tiredly rubbing his eyes, his teddy bear tight in his grasp.

" Hi-ho, little man! I think it's better too," said Emmett in a cheery voice and beckoned him to come sit with them.

Jules toddled across the room and plopped himself in his mother's lap, his minuscule arms around her expanded waist. He placed his head on the bump and tried to listen out for any noises. " Naughty baby make Mama poorly!"

Emmett smiled at Clara. " See? He's not upset. And try to forget all this, OK? Stressing about it will only make it worse."

Despite the fact that the Doc's advice had been ringing in her ears for weeks, Clara couldn't help feeling scared and alone. She had no idea what was happening to her body nor the baby. Frequent visits to the doctor didn't help. It also didn't help that Emmett kept nattering on about the future, where it was possible to find out if her precious child was, any way, distressed. But she braved a false smile and got on with her everyday duties as a housewife and a mother. That is, until Emmett gave her a surprise after a long day at the market. She wearily opened the front door and turned on the gaslight.

" Surprise!" everyone screamed, revealing themselves from their hiding places.

Clara shrieked. " What is all this?" she demanded, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

She scanned the sea of her friends' faces, her heart pounding like a drum. Everyone – and more – had come to wish her well. Emmett pushed his way through the crowd, smiling, with Jules wriggling in his arms.

" I know you've been down in the dumps recently and well, I wanted to surprise you," he explained.

Clara smiled weakly; she'd suddenly felt faint but she wasn't going to mention it. She fell forward into her husband's arms and gave him and Jules a huge group hug. " You're beautiful, do you know that? Thank you, sweetheart."

She kissed him gently on the lips but she couldn't stay conscious any longer. The room began to spin around and around, and even though she had put her head on Emmett's shoulder and closed her eyes, she knew she couldn't stop herself from collapsing. She let a groan and she couldn't remember what happened next. She woke up a few seconds later on the ground, the guests crowded around her, murmuring worriedly amongst themselves. Emmett was hovering her, fanning her to keep her cool. Slowly, she sat up.

" Clara?" asked Emmett. " Are you all right? One minute you were fine and dandy, the next thing I know you were on the floor! Would you all back off? Give her some air, for God's sake! She's not well," he barked as he helped Clara into a chair.

" She does look awfully pale," she heard someone say.

" Darling? You OK?"

" Yes, I'm-I'm fine," she replied. " I just haven't been myself since…since, well, since I got pregnant."

The Doc stood up and faced everyone. " Clara has been very sick lately," he explained and there was an eruption of concerned whispers.

" Em, I don't think this was a good idea."

" I just wanted to cheer you up a little bit. That's all."

Clara smiled weakly and looked to the guests. Although she felt tired and ill, she was going to attempt to have a good time. She never had the heart to say no to her dearest husband, especially when he was making the cutest puppy-dog pout face she had ever seen. " All right, sweetheart. I'll get through this little soiree. But _then _I am going to bed."

" Jeremiah and I purchased this gift for you," piped up one of Clara's friends, handing over a wrapped parcel.

" Oh, thank you, Sophie."

Then as Clara forgot about feeling ill and faint, she began to have a great time with her friends. They played games, ate some good wholesome food and they all gave the Browns advice about what to do if Clara should fall sick again. And it just made her worry. Would it be really her fault if there was something wrong with her future daughter or son?


	4. Too Early

**Saturday, December 8****th****, 1888**

" Emmett? Emmett?" Clara murmured as she awoke uncharacteristically early that morning.

The bright yellow sun streamed in through the window, for the curtains had been left open. She sat up, slowly and difficultly. Emmett's side of the bed had been tousled but he was not there. He'd already gotten up and gone to work early. He'd been doing this a lot recently and Clara had no idea why. She knew that he wasn't a people person and sometimes he needed time alone to himself. But the thing was he adored being home with his family and with Jules. It was true that Clara still hadn't gotten over her sickness and she was complaining a lot, but was she really that unbearable to live with? She slid out of bed, still groggy from her night's sleep, and went to check on Jules in the next room. He was still sound asleep, tangled in the bed sheets, and gently snoring with his thumb glued to his mouth. Clara smiled warmly and she leant in to give him a morning kiss. He groaned and rolled over and gradually woke up.

" Where's Dada?" he asked.

" At work, baby. He has a lot to do today," she whispered softly and kissed him. " Come on, let's go eat breakfast."

Clara had planned to cook a hot meal for breakfast but the sharp, agonising pain in her back made it impossible to even stand, and cooking in a hot kitchen would most likely make it worse. In the end, she made Jules a sandwich with jam that her mother had sent her in the mail, and for herself, she didn't have as much as a bite. She noticed that whenever she ate a meal, she would throw it back up and then she would feel fine. And in this particular situation, she felt worrying a young child was unnecessary. Later when they were finished, she helped Jules get dressed and she changed clothes in the privacy of her own bedroom. She hoped the pain was nothing and she needed to purchase groceries so she ignored it, but not completely.

Because of the state she had put herself in, she thought it best to take Jules with her to the market. The market was a fairly busy place, where men were shouting at the top of their lungs, trying to convince people why they should buy their wares. Jules always enjoyed hearing them, smelling all sorts of smells and seeing interesting sights. His mother would often let him to go to these stalls but not that afternoon. She stampeded towards the vegetable stand, eager to get back home, making it difficult for the two year old to keep up. The pain shooting down Clara's back was getting worse and more intense. Every five minutes, she counted, knowing that at just twenty nine weeks, she had gone into labour. Silently she picked out her vegetables and Mr. Taylor the greengrocer put them into a bag for her. Though disappointed that he didn't get to do what he wanted, Jules became distracted by an old, funny looking donkey which caused him to get the giggles.

" What's the little lad sniggering at?" Mr. Taylor smiled as Clara paid him the correct amount of money.

She turned her head and looked down at him. " Oh, I don't know," she sighed.

" Not sleeping right, are we?" Clara shrugged in response. " Well, you know what works for me?" he continued. " A glass of the finest red wine. Puts me right out."

" I appreciate your concern but I'm not in the condition to drink wine." Vaguely, she gestured to her belly and as it became apparent to the greengrocer, he couldn't help but apologise.

" Oh, I apologise sincerely, my dear madam!" he cried.

The former schoolteacher raised her hand to silence him. " It's perfectly all right, sir. Jules, come on, darling!" she called. She picked up her bag, took her child-son by the hand and began to head down to Doc's barn. She bent down, with difficulty, and asked him, " How would you like to see Dada at work?"

Jules' tiny round face instantly lit up and he cheered. He'd always wanted to see his father hard at work though he was never allowed to. Clara walked swiftly down the dusty road, not bothering to say sorry to people she bumped into. Just as the barn came into sight, she was struck down by an intense contraction. Releasing a loud moan, she doubled over and collapsed to her knees, tightly clutching her belly. Jules' large brown eyes widened in fear; he was too young to understand. He patted her on the back, hoping it would do some good.

" It's OK," she murmured breathlessly. " Mama's OK. Listen, I want you to be a big boy and get your dad for me. Can you do that?"

The toddler nodded, an expression of determination frozen on his face. He got to his feet and dashed to the door as fast as his short legs could carry him. Initially, he tried to push it open, even when he put all of his strength into it, he was just too little. He shuffled his feet and kicked the ground in frustration. But as he turned back to his mother, he saw how fragile she looked, despite not fully understanding why. He knew he had to try, for her sake.

" DADA!" he belted out, frantically rapping on the door. " Dada!" he screamed again, his fists beginning to feel sore from banging against the wood.

Just when he was about to give up hope, the Doc pulled the door open, looking very confused and annoyed. His forehead, soaked in sweat, glistened in the afternoon sun. He didn't noticed Jules at first, thinking it must have been pesky pranksters acting foolish. When he heard a faint whimper, his gaze slid down to Jules' height.

" Hey, little man. Where's your mom? You know you can't just wander off like that!" he lectured, though he was happy to see him.

Jules didn't answer. Instead, he pointed to where Clara was kneeling. The scientist gasped, immediately guessing what was happening. He rushed over, wanting to be her hero, and half carried her to the safety of the barn. There, he made her comfortable in a bed of hay and while she suffered the excruciating agony of labour, he hurried to the doctor's office to alert Dr. Simpson. He called off all appointments and with Emmett and Jules, he ran at top speed through town. The adrenaline pumping through him, Dr. Simpson burst in as Clara writhed in pain.

" How far along is she?" he ordered.

" About, uh, s-seven months," the Doc answered nervously.

Dr. Simpson grew immensely worried and Emmett knew that. He knew he had to stay calm – two lives could be at stake and he would never forgive himself if everything spiralled out of control. " Ah, OK. I can't guarantee the baby's safety so you'd better prepare yourselves."

" What?" gasped Clara.

As Dr. Simpson told her what was going on, the Doc didn't hear a word. He was too busy being wrapped up in his own inventive brain to notice anything in his surroundings. Premature babies were born every year, every day in fact. His own would be dead in a matter of minutes, because the time period didn't have the technology in order to save it. It didn't seem fair. But what if…? Yes! That's it!

" Emmett," said the doctor. " I know this is hard but your family needs you to be strong."

" Wait…"

" Mr. Brown?"

Doc didn't answer. His brain was focused on building a machine that might possibly save the infant's life. So while Dr. Simpson tended to Clara, Emmett completely blocked everything as he worked hard, rushing around the barn to collect the tools and materials he needed. He was finished five or six hours later, and he told the doctor that when the baby arrived, he needed to hook him or her up to the machine, which would assist their breathing.

" You're insane!" the doctor blurted out after Emmett had explained it to him.

" My child's life is at stake. It _will _work. Believe me!"

" Better do what he says! He's crazy!" Clara butted in, wriggling and grunting in pain. " Emmett, come here a moment," she breathed.

He did as he was told. He squeezed her hand in support and smiled. " What? Hmm? You want anything?"

" I don't want to be some…" She was cut off by labour pains. " Virgin Mary delivering my baby in a _barn_! It's so…not what I planned!"

As Clara struggled to control her breathing, a small sad smile spread across Doc's face and he thought of Marty, waiting for him in the year 1985. " You can't plan…You know, you can't plan things like this. You just have to…suck it up," he sighed. He rarely used that phrase, as he thought slang was beneath him, but Marty had used it on several occasions.

" Uh, Mr. Brown, would you mind taking Jules home? I need full concentration and it's a bit difficult with a young child here," the good Dr. Simpson interrupted. " I'm sorry, Emmett," he added gloomily. " You won't be able to be there when the baby's born. I'm sorry," he said again.

Through all the pain she was forced to endure, Clara smiled weakly as if to say, " I'll be all right. You've got suck it up."

Without another word, Emmett picked up the sleeping toddler and gently put his tiny head against his shoulder. Jules murmured in his sleep and wriggled, causing his father smiled. He walked out of the door, the winter air sending a chill in his direction. It was starting to get dark and everyone was packing up and going home for the evening. They, particularly the men, wore cheerful expressions on their faces, happy to go home to a warm, cosy house with dinner waiting for them on the table. The Doc sighed. He wouldn't have that tonight. As he set off home, he began to think of the time when he was infinitely unhappy in the 1980's. He had no money to speak of, no job, no friends, no relationship, no home. No nothing. He couldn't help thinking that he was slowly reverting back to that. He slipped in through the front door, slunk upstairs to his bedroom. He saw that the bed had been unmade. Clara must have been in labour all day, poor girl. Gently, he laid Jules down on the left side of the bed and after he pulled off his shoes and socks, Doc himself laid down to go to sleep. He turned over to face Jules. Doc's mind was cast back to the day he was born and he remembered how thrilled he was to become a father. He then knew that life would never be like before. He leant forward and planted a loving kiss on the little boy's forehead and with that, he drifted off into a deep sleep.


	5. Verne

The round, fiery, yellow sun hung low in the cloudy, pinkish sky, arising slowly in fear. Usually a spirited lass, she was as morose as the poor souls who had lost their way in the journey of life. She had seen what happened that night and as his servant, she refused to let Emmett go through the pain of grief, but as her mother kept telling her, life would always go on. So in a sulk, the sun's light streamed in through the window of the Brown household to start the miserable day. Emmett blinked, trying to recall the previous night's excitement and it all came crashing down on him. He jerked himself awake and shot up in bed. That was odd. His arm felt damp. Then he remembered. Jules' nocturnal enuresis. The miniscule child was still sleeping beside him, faint snores passing his lips. Doc stroked his cheek to awaken him.

" Little man!" he hissed.

Jules stirred, rolled over to his side and greeted his father with a small, tired smile. " Hi, Dada!" he croaked groggily.

" Let's go see Mama, huh?"

He helped his son out of the huge double bed and together, they tiptoed downstairs. Emmett was surprised to see Dr. Simpson standing at the bottom. Behind his glasses, it was clear that he hadn't slept. He was pasty and drained. He frowned. That could only mean bad news.

" The baby. It's dead."

Simpson shook his head. " He may not be healthy, but he's alive."

The angels sang beautifully in the scientist's head as he mentally thanked God. Tears formed in his eyes of melted chocolate and a grin a mile long stretched across his cheeks. " Tell me, what time did she deliver?"

" Uh…About eighteen minutes after you left. She did brilliantly, sir. You should be very proud."

" I am! You did what I told you?" he asked, his eyes wild.

The doctor nodded. " I'm sorry I called you insane. You were right. It did save his life."

" It's fine, thanks. I've grown accustomed to it."

Dr. Simpson looked to the living room door. " I'll take care of Jules in here. Go on in and meet Verne, why don't you?"

Emmett grinned. " His name is Verne?"

" Yes. Verne Edward Brown. Fits him well," the doctor smiled.

" Thank you ever so much, doctor. You've been good to us."

Dr. Simpson nodded in thanks. " Go on. Go in there right this minute! Meet your son." he commanded.

Tentatively, Emmett stepped through to the living room, not entirely what he would find. His gaze was immediately drawn to Clara. She was snoozing in the armchair, buried in a blanket that Simpson must have given her. Emmett's heart swelled. She had never been as beautiful as she did then. Her skin was pale and it looked as though she had gone through Hell and back and he fell in love with her all over again. Then she stirred and her eyes fluttered open. She smiled weakly.

" Hi, sweetheart," whispered Doc. " The doctor tells me we have a little boy."

" Yes. He's beautiful," Clara whispered back. She moved over to the side of the chair where Emmett saw him the first time.

Tinier than anything he'd seen before, the baby son laid in the makeshift incubator with all different wires stuck into his wrinkled skin as he struggled to stay alive. Emmett's heart broke to see him this way, but knew if he hadn't acted quickly, Verne might've not been here. He sneaked closer to get a better look, the tears silently falling and the smile on his lips never fading.

" Oh, my God!" he whispered in amazement. He didn't expect him to be _that_ small. " My boy," he murmured. " My little angel. Hello, little guy!"

" I'm scared," Clara said and she erupted into tears. " He's mine…he's _ours_…and he's going to be taken away!"

The Doc embraced his wife tightly, shushing her calmly. " You don't know that. He could stay."

Verne stayed. In fact, to Doc's surprise, he refused to leave. For the first six months of his life he spent connected to the makeshift life support machine, as he fought a constant battle but when he came off, the war had only just begun. Since he was premature, he was smaller than most infants and despite the efforts his body made to get him to grow, he was never able to keep up. As the years dragged on by, his development took a lot of time and learning to talk and walk that all children learn in their toddlerhood was a struggle to conquer. When he talked, he talked very little and preferred to communicate through Jules, who miraculously understood every grunt, whimper and moan his baby brother made. Although the strange little child was contented with his life, it tormented Clara to no end. When she decided she wanted to have children, she didn't expect to put up with a four year old being so locked up in his own world that he couldn't emerge himself into everyone else's. She loved him, of course, what parent wouldn't? But every now and again, she felt a twinge of guilt in her stomach. Her pregnancy was not a healthy one, she admitted that, and she wondered if she did something differently, then maybe Verne would've been at least a normal person. Emmett, on the other hand, seemed to understand his youngest son, so he wanted to leave him to it until he was ready to move on to the next milestone. Also, he comprehended that social interaction and new routines scared him, though he never understood _why_. But since he was too busy with building his steam time train, he regretfully couldn't let a hand in his care.


	6. The Heartless Teacher

**Wednesday, May 24****th****, 1893**

" Please, Verne! Keep still!" Clara moaned that morning when she was trying to get Verne dressed for the day. He was in a funny mood and decided he wanted to stay in his pyjamas.

" No! No! No! No!" screeched Verne, determined to break free of his mother's tight grasp.

" Come on, baby. You're a big boy now; surely you can dress yourself by now!" she pleaded, her voice sounding desperate. Verne continued to wail and cry. She heaved an exasperated sigh. " You were born to torture me, weren't you?"

" It's OK, Mother. I'll take it from here," six years old Jules butted in, who'd been watching the whole malarkey from the doorway.

Clara sighed again. " Thanks, sweetie. You don't need to do that."

" Oh, no. It's OK. He likes me to help him. Verne. Verne!" He raised his voice to get his brother's attention. " You want help him with that shirt, yeah?"

Shyly and reluctantly, he nodded his head, his dark chocolate eyes fixated at the farthest wall. Jules smiled and he proceeded to button up the clean, white shirt. Disappointed and hurt, Clara saw that she was no longer needed, so she went downstairs to do the laundry that she had been putting since the night before. Her stomach leapt with guilt. Jules needn't help with raising Verne; he was just a child himself, he needed to be out there, playing with boys his own age, instead of taking care of his very stubborn younger brother. It was isolating him, Clara could see that. Whenever he saw his classmates in town, he was reluctant to join in with their juvenile games and was actually willing to stay by Verne's side. Suppose she was grateful that Verne had such a loving brother – none of her own brothers were – but Jules wasn't going to be like this forever. He would get older, find out what kind of person he wanted to be, maybe meet his true love and start his own family with her. He would be forced to choose his own life or Verne's and Clara, naturally, hoped it would be former. She was jolted out of her thoughts when she heard two pairs of feet clomping on the stairs.

" All done!" Jules cried, presenting his neatly dressed brother to his mother.

Hiding her guilt with a smile, she said, " Oh, you are looking handsome, baby. Come along now. Off to school!"

Taking each son in each hand, Clara strolled down the road to the schoolhouse, where she'd worked once upon a time. She didn't miss teaching that much. There was an excitement in hearing the class' intrigued murmurs as she taught them about some interesting subject that they would usually find boring. But of course, she would always prefer what she was doing now. She had the best job in the world; being a mother to two wonderful – albeit tiring – boys. She and Jules waved when they saw the current teacher, standing outside the schoolhouse and welcoming his young students.

" Aah, Mrs. Brown! How are you this morning?" chorused Mr. Hart.

" Exhausted." She smiled. " Just to let you know, Verne had a bit of an upset this morning."

Mr. Hart smiled at the small boy, who was shyly hiding behind his mother's skirt. " What was it this time, then, troublemaker?" he asked cheerfully.

" He didn't want to get dressed," she explained in an annoyed tone.

The teacher gave a hearty laugh. " Who doesn't? Well, thank you very much for telling me, Mrs. Brown. I promise I'll keep an extra close eye on him today."

Clara heaved a sigh of relief. " Tell Jules to get me if he…you know, plays up."

" You say that every morning!" the teacher replied.

Clara smiled again as she began to walk off. Verne, now tightly squeezing his brother's hand, gave a faint whimper of fright. He hated having to leave her every day. He always wondered what she did during the day and he wondered if it was anything interesting. And he often worried about not seeing her again. Even with his brother by his side, he was terrified of being left alone at the school. When he first started going to the schoolhouse, he screamed the place down until Jules went to get Clara to take him back home. That stage in his life, thankfully, was over, but his worries and fears never ceased.

Later that day, Clara was busily washing the breakfast dishes, smiling and humming to herself as she daydreamed of a distant land, as she so often did on a sunny afternoon like this. She felt happy, but she didn't know why. She managed to do the majority of her chores in only a short space of time and she hadn't heard from Mr. Hart or Jules at all. But that happiness was short-lived when she heard an urgent rapping at the front door. Dropping her washcloth, she dashed over to answer it. Jules was standing there, panting heavily, his face battered and bruised.

" He didn't?" she asked.

" He's really bad this time, come on!" he shouted, pulling at his mother's arm.

The mother and son marched through the town back to the school as Jules told her about what had happened. Clara was furious, not with Verne but with Mr. Hart, who had senselessly whipped the boy with a cane. She pushed open the door and saw Verne, curled up in a tiny ball, screaming and crying.

" It's OK, Mother's here," she said softly. The second he saw her, he wrapped his arms around her legs, trying to tell her what had happened. " It's OK, Verne. I'm here. I'm here, y'see?" Once the poor little child calmed down, she turned to face Mr. Hart, who had been watching the whole thing. " You should be ashamed of yourself! You know Verne is different, you know he's sensitive, you know he's slow, you know he's _SPECIAL!_" she roared.

The teacher smirked. " Oh, dear Mrs. Brown. Verne is just like everybody else in this room. He's as sane as I. It is you who has made him the way he is. The way you mollycoddle him, let him get away with murder," he uttered coldly.

" The day you insult my family is the day you buy your ticket to Hell. I have skills and knowledge. I will teach him at home from now on," she answered just as coldly. " I know my son. I know what he needs. Come on, Jules. Let's go home."

" But, Mother, I-"

" Now."

Clara picked Verne up in her arms, with Jules trailing behind them. She never stopped to look back, but the words that no-good teacher so heartlessly spoke to her was left ringing in her ears. She hated to admit that it hurt like no other pain could. Worriedly, Jules looked up at her and saw that large, diamond-shaped teardrops were silently streaming down her face. He loved his little brother, but this was the day that made him realise that there was definitely something wrong with Verne, and he was never going to get cured. When the three Browns reached the house, they spotted Emmett waiting outside, looking out for them. When he saw Clara, he gave a frantic wave to her. He rushed up to his family and gave them all hugs, except for Verne who never cared much for expressions of affection.

" What's happened now?" he asked. " Sophie came to tell me she saw you and Jules running all over the place!"

" I've pulled Verne out of school," she sobbed. " I swear that useless piece of crap is ruining our children's minds!" she spat, clenching her teeth with rage.

Doc clucked his tongue and put his hands on his hips. " Clara, you shouldn't say things like that, especially in front of the kids."

She sighed and mumbled, " I know. It's just that…he really hurt me. He said Verne's behaviour is my fault, that I'm not raising him right."

Jules took her gently by the hand and firmly told her, " It doesn't matter what mean old Mr. Hart says. I still think you're the best mother ever!"

Clara smiled weakly and appreciatively.

" He's right. Do not listen to anyone who says bad things about Verne. He's our boy and we love him for that, disabled or not."

" Emmett, tell me. Are people like him accepted? You know, in the future?"

The Doc grinned mischievously. " Well, let's go see!" he cried.

Jules and Clara looked at one another, dumbfounded. Verne, like he was known for doing, was hopping up and down on one foot, contently singing tunelessly to himself.

" What do you mean, dear?" Clara questioned uncertainly.

" I thought your friend had the time machine?" Jules pointed out. He always enjoyed hearing stories about his father's adventures and he had memorised every iota of them.

" I built another one," he proudly said and nonchalantly squeezed Verne's arm to calm him down.

" Without an automobile?"

" Well, I had to improvise a little bit. Come on, I'll show you."

Doc picked Jules up and lifted him up onto his shoulders, which Jules loved him to do. Clara grabbed Verne's hand, so he wouldn't run off, and this was the way the Brown family trotted down to the nearby train station, Emmett excitedly leading them. When they got there, a small pathetic-looking locomotive was sitting on the tracks, waiting for them. It was dented in some places and the paint was starting to peel off. To Clara, it seemed surprisingly familiar. She and Jules gasped in amazement. The Doc put Jules back on the ground and he began to introduce his greatest invention yet.

" Family, this is the time train machine, or the Jules Verne Train as I like to call it. And wait for it…" he cried. He climbed up the steps and opened the door. A greyish-brown, black-eared dog leapt out, affectionately sniffing and licking his master's face. Jules' eyes lit up. He'd always wanted a dog. " This is Einstein. He was my doting pet in the 1980's. He's the gentlest creature on Earth and he's very eager to meet all of you!" he said, chuckling. Jules jumped for joy and he dashed to hug and kiss his brand new dog, vigorously stroking his long fur. Smiling, Doc put his arm around Clara and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

" I just tested it today. I thought it'd be good for you. Get to see a completely different world. Maybe even live there. That's an option," he said.

Clara grinned. " This is brilliant, sweetheart. It's such a beautiful gift to us! But what about Verne?" she whispered. " Would he be able to handle time-travel?"

Emmett looked hurt and disappointed. " I didn't think of that," he answered, truthfully. Then after a brief pause he said, " Well, there's only one way to find out. Come on!"

" We're not going now?" she gasped. " But there's so much to do. We need to, uh, pack, get someone to look after the house, I've got to send the post and Verne needs his diapers."

Doc laughed. " You're not thinking fourth-dimensionally! This is a _time_ _machine_. We've got all the time in the world."


	7. Wednesday, May 5th, 2010

Darkness befell the Jules Verne train, leaving the five passengers dreadfully disorientated. Einstein, though had time-travelled a number of times before, gave a terrified whimper and curled up on the floor by Doc's feet. The Doc sat very still for several moments to recuperate. Like Einstein, he was once an avid time-traveller, and nearly every time he suffered from 'time sickness'. Clara was sitting in the back with her sons. Her heart was pounding, sweat was seeping through her clothes, she was trembling violently but for some reason she couldn't explain, she had enjoyed the thrill in her first trip through time. Jules initially felt afraid, but once everything fell silent, a calm feeling washed over him. Verne, on the other hand, was not as eager to venture into the future. Of all the things in the world, he thought the dark was the scariest thing he ever encountered. At bedtime at home, he was aware that he couldn't see the objects in his room that made him feel safe, such as his toys, chest of drawers and wardrobe, and he was always afraid that his family weren't going to be there in the morning. Whimpering in pure terror, he began to imagine horrible things, like green gooey monsters jumping out to gobble him up.

" What's that noise?" asked Emmett, fumbling around to try and find a light.

" Verne!" Jules replied in somewhat annoyance.

" Oh, my _baby!_" Clara cried.

Verne struggled to get out of the chair but he was tied down. Doc had installed safety belts, but he didn't know that. The little petrified child believed it to be the tall, thin man dressed black with the wild, wild eyes from his nightmares, holding on to him. The more he struggled, the more he became scared and he started to scream and cry again, lashing out at everything that came into contact with him.

" Em, turn on the light!" Clara said urgently, scrambling blindly around in the dark.

" I can't find it!"

" Well, find it then!"

A few seconds later, when the Doc couldn't find the light and Verne's hysterical screaming was growing in volume, he decided to open the door, letting the sun's natural light flood in. But that did far from calm Verne down. Once he could see, four year old Verne unlatched the safety belt and before Clara could catch him, he leapt to his feet and began to run as fast as he could, wailing and crying and still kicking everything in his path. He had to get away from that dreadful place. He wanted to go home, but as he ran down the strange and different road, he realised that this was not home. Tall, somewhat shimmery buildings towered over him and noisy crowds of people were too wrapped in their own minds to even notice the cowering little boy. Vehicles whizzed past on the roads, making unusual loud noises, and Verne couldn't handle any of it. This was a very different place from the peaceful and quiet town in 1893. The tears leaping from his large, soft brown eyes, he ran around, trying to find a safe place to hide. Suddenly, amongst all the people, he caught a glimpse of Clara marching towards him. As she drew closer, the expression of worry and embarrassment was etched on her exhausted face, though Verne didn't see that. She scooped him up while he tried to wriggle his way out of her grasp.

" Verne, baby. Stop your crying now, darling," she told him, which he didn't listen to. He was determined to keep having his tantrum. " Please, sweetie. Stop it! You're upsetting me!" she muttered in desperation. So after a long half an hour, he started to calm down and Clara burst into tears. " This is my fault. All my fault!" she viciously barked at herself and curled up in a foetal position.

" Excuse me," a soft voice called. Clara started and looked up to see a plump, middle-aged woman with obviously dyed red hair hovering her. " I couldn't help but notice, um, your son?"

" Yes, he's my son."

" Well, I was unfortunate to witness what's just happened and truly, I feel sorry. I really do. You seem really upset."

" Thank you, but we're fine now," she answered and stood up, taking a hold of Verne's hands.

" I think he may be autistic, if you don't mind my saying so," the woman replied, sweetly smiling at the blonde-haired boy.

" What does that mean?" Clara asked. Being from the 1800's, she never even heard that word before.

" It means that your lovely little boy is different. He's special, and that he lives in his own world. People, affection, social situations don't interest him at all," the woman explained. " My daughter also has the disorder, so I've lived with it for a long time now. Here's the name of a good doctor. She'd be able to tell you more about it." The woman took a small card from her pocket and handed it to Clara. Smiling, she said goodbye and wished her luck, and when the Doc and Jules came to join them, she walked away, giving them a brief wave. Emmett observed her closely, suspecting her of something.

" Who was that?" he questioned.

Clara shrugged, staring at the card. 'Dr. Simpson, child psychologist,' it read. Then she faced her husband and asked him, " Have you heard of this…autistic?"

" Why, Albert Einstein was on the autism spectrum!" the Doc exclaimed excitedly, feeling like a child in a candy shop. " So was Sir Isaac Newton! And Winston Churchill; Mozart. Why, some of the world's most important scientists and writers showed signs of autism. Ernest Hemingway for one…"

" Well," Clara began, " that woman just told me that's why Verne is…well, Verne. She gave me this card to contact a doctor."

Emmett grinned and embraced his wife warmly. " We may finally have an answer."


	8. Different, Not Less

"…He rarely speaks; only one or two words, like 'no' and 'yes' and 'bed,' and potty training is a problem, too. He still wears diapers." Clara finished explaining to the doctor who sat behind the desk.

Clara had Verne perched on her lap, while Jules played quietly in the corner as the Doc sat with him, half listening in to the conversation.

" Yes, well," Dr. Simpson muttered under her breath. " Mr. and Mrs. Brown, no matter how much you're going to deny it, your son _is_ autistic."

Clara laughed in relief. " Trust me, doctor, you have no idea how thankful I am to hear that there's actually a reason behind Verne's behaviour. Now, what kind of medicine would it require for it to be cured?"

Emmett suddenly looked up and shot a nervous glance at the doctor.

" I'm sorry, Mrs. Brown, there is no cure. But we can help you to deal with it," she replied.

Clara looked hurt. She heaved a miserable sigh and gave her son a kiss on top of his head. " There's nothing to make it better?"

" Of course there is! I'm going to refer you to a behaviour therapist, all right?"

" He won't ever get better?" she asked again, her teeth clenching.

Dr. Simpson brushed her long, wavy brown hair out of the way of her face and went on to say, " Your son will get better, but he will have autism forever. Just because he has autism doesn't mean he won't be successful. Take Temple Grandin for instance. She was diagnosed in the '50's. No one had faith in her, except for her mother. She went to college and she improved the treatment of cattle in abattoirs. She changed it for the better. So maybe Verne will go on to change the world in his own way." It took a few moments for it sink in and Clara contemplated the idea. Perhaps Verne would become a scientist like his father, or a writer or an artist. " He's different, not less. He still has emotions, thoughts, opinions, he just can't express them as well as most people."

Clara gradually began to understand. He was Verne and he had an extraordinary gift that is only given to a chosen few. She nodded. " Thank you, doctor," she answered.

Dr. Simpson suddenly gave a chuckle. " It looks as though you might have a mild form, too, Mr. Brown!" she said, smiling.

" Me, autism? Nah!" Doc shrugged it off.

" She's right, darling."

Doc's chin hit the floor. " Hey!"

Clara cleared her throat. " Well, thank you for what you've done for us. I won't forget it." She stood up and shook hands with the doctor.

" No problem, it was nice meeting you."

" Come on, then, boys!" They started to descend through the door, but then Clara stopped. " You didn't happen to have any relatives who lived here in 1885, did you?"

Dr. Simpson frowned in thought. " I think I did. Um, my great-great grandparents, I believe. Why do you ask?"

" No reason. Good day."


	9. The Light At the End of the Tunnel

The Browns were heading back to the train station on the bus. It had gotten late and the children had fallen asleep. Emmett had his arm around his loving wife, who was busy watching the boys snooze in the seats next to her. Jules' head was hanging off the edge of the seat and every time the bus turned a corner, Jules' limp body would follow suit. Verne had curled up into a tiny ball and every once in a while, he would twitch or make a high-pitched sound. There was a perpetual smile on Doc's mouth. He remembered the day Verne made his unexpected arrival. There was a chance he could have died and he was lying there, as alive as the beating heart that brought him here. The love he felt for his youngest son flowed through him and the fact that he was now given a label didn't change a thing. There was still going to be a long journey ahead, there was going to be heartbreak, frustration and tears, but it was the light at the end of the tunnel they knew they were aiming for. When the bus reached its destination, Doc held Verne in his arms and kissed him lightly on his forehead and Clara gently woke up Jules. The time train was on the tracks untouched and the family clambered in and was greeted by Einstein. It sped up to 88mph and only five seconds later, they were back home in 1893, literally a minute after they left.

" Well, that was an eventful trip," Clara said to Emmett later that evening when the children had gone to bed.

Doc smiled to himself. " Yeah, wait until you see 2015! Oh, it is _beautiful! _We can update the train there. Get a hover conversion and make it fly! And then we could visit Marty," he cried.

" Yes. But first and foremost, we take care of Verne. He's the focus of this chapter in our lives after all."

Emmett gave a small smile. He hugged his wife tightly and in her ear, he whispered, " Thank you for giving me two beautiful sons."

**Dedicated to the inspiration for this story.**


End file.
